


Rubber and Springs

by Fanhag102



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Winnie the pooh references, pretty much fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 13:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanhag102/pseuds/Fanhag102
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You want me to think about someone other than myself?” Derek growls loudly, chest rising and falling quickly beneath his leather jacket. </p><p>“That’d be great, yes!” Stiles shouts back.</p><p>“Fine!” </p><p>“<em>Fine!</em>”</p><p>“Okay!” </p><p>And then Derek is out of his window so fast that it takes Stiles a good minute and a half to realize that he just… won?</p><p>“<em>What.</em>”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rubber and Springs

**Author's Note:**

> So I guess I should say, this is my first Sterek fic. I was trying to avoid fic-ing in this fandom because I, quite frankly, don't have time, but oh well. 
> 
> I didn't put the underaged warning because like, it's not illegal to just make out with a seventeen year old, right? 
> 
> Title comes from the Tigger Song. Extra points for anyone who figured that out right away!
> 
> A wonderful thing is a Tigger  
> A Tigger's a wonderful thing  
> It's top is made out of rubber  
> It's bottom is made out of springs!

If Stiles’ mood were a cartoon character, today it would most definitely be Eeyore. His day was literally such crap that his very emotions had become depressive and paranoid. If someone asked him right now to name his favorite scene from a Star Wars movie he would probably say, “what does it matter?” and wish that _he_ was in a galaxy far, far away.

Some galaxy where he didn’t have to wake up at ungodly hours of the morning after a night of, basically, no sleep at all and will his body to drive his crap car (that wouldn’t start for a good five minutes and then sounded like it was currently in the act of dying his entire drive) to the most horrible place on earth (seriously, there have been studies)—public high school. Where, of course, his BFF and idiot werewolf, Scott bombarded him with the day’s fret and worry. As if Stiles didn’t have enough of his own shit to deal with. He barely heard Scott’s complaints anymore. Something, something Allison, or something, something asshole Derek. Or, and this one is Stiles’ personal favorite, something, something illegal and dangerous, oh and, yeah Stiles of course we need your help with said illegal and dangerous thing.

Most of the time Stiles could put up with it. At least, he had come to terms with it. But today, for some reason, it was just all too much.

School was a disaster. Pop quiz, of course. In more than one class, because teachers are sadistic assholes and they plan these things. They just have to. In Chemistry Stiles could barely keep his eyes open and he kept sniffing because he had a runny nose after staying out all night with an insanely thin jacket. Not to mention the whole no sleep thing. Screw his human weaknesses.

Harris noticed, of course, and spent the next four minutes reciting a speech about proper sleeping schedules and health that Stiles is pretty sure he wrote out and edited the night before, like he expected Stiles to come in looking like the mess he was. Those four minutes were actually the best sleep Stiles had had in at least 24 hours. Not, of course, that Mr. Harris could appreciate anything like a good nap, and, because Stiles’ life is cursed, or something, gave Stiles a detention that he couldn’t sleep through (even thought he really, really wanted to).

But, because the day was still in its infancy, Stiles’ optimism was still alive. Though not looking forward to his later detention, he headed to Geography smiling and telling Scott the outcome of last night’s adventures—because even though it meant he hadn’t slept, it had still been kind of awesome. Then, of course, because things always have to get worse if they’re already shit, the girl he’d been sort of flirting with who sat beside him in Geography decided today was the perfect day to tell him that he was just the _best_ _friend_ she’d ever had. At this point, Stiles was actually considering throwing himself off of the roof.

Then came detention, and when he arrived late to lacrosse practice Coach Finstock came at him with some really nonsensical insults about equipment or lacks thereof, which Stiles didn’t really understand but it still dampened his already sour mood. Then practice started and it was brutal. Like, the kinds of brutal they should really make illegal but because, hey! public school, they don’t even bother. And it all seemed so much worse considering Stiles hadn’t played a game since that one time that he was _totally fucking awesome—_ though apparently not awesome enough—and he probably wasn’t going to, considering there was now enough werewolf muscle on the team to manage the field all by themselves.

 By the time practice was over Scott and Isaac were both talking at him very excitedly, at the same time with big, fucking grins on their stupid faces, and Stiles didn’t even hear a word they said before he was screaming at them.

He couldn’t even quite remember every thing he shouted at them (he thought he cursed Derek’s name about fifty times, blaming him for his lack of sleep and the fact that he apparently got up on the wrong side of life this morning), but by the time he was done they both looked like kicked puppies—and Stiles didn’t even have the energy left to feel bad about it.

He slumped away from the field, and his friends, and back to his crap jeep that on most days he would defend to her death, but today just wished she were in a junkyard. He drove home to find the house empty. It was typical, but on a day like today it hit Stiles like a fucking tank. He feels like he only sees his dad these days at crime scenes, which he’s _always_ at, and doesn’t that just make him feel fucking peachy? He dropped his backpack by the door and sunk at his desk, getting ready to start the homework that he _really_ didn’t feel like doing after the day he’d had.

His dad was never home, he’d just screamed at his best friend, and Lydia would never love him. 

Maybe tomorrow would be a better day.

* * *

 

The sun is setting and Stiles is halfway through a Lit paper when the alpha lands gracefully on his bedroom floor. 

“Stiles, I need—“

“Derek,” Stiles says, and it came out stinted and through clenched teeth, “Shut up.”

And for once, just _once—_ Derek actually obeys. Stiles takes a deep breath and turns away from his computer where word.doc is glaring black and white at him. He fixes Derek with a glare that holds every bit of his crap day, and feels proud when he thinks he notices Derek shirk back just a bit.

“What do you want?”

Derek exhales lowly and fixes Stiles with a sharp frown. He looks flustered, but there was no way in hell his day was anywhere near as awful as Stiles’ had been, so the teen has zero sympathy.

“I _want_ ,” Derek says, crossing his arms and leaning against the windowsill, “to know why Scott and Isaac just barged in and started _yelling at me.”_

Stiles swallows. Okay, maybe he mentioned Derek’s name more than he thought in his little rant earlier. Nothing he could do about it now. He opens his mouth to sputter some pointless reply, but Derek’s constant scowl deepens suddenly and he cuts Stiles off by asking with a wave of his hand,

“What’s the matter with you, anyway? You look exhausted.”

And that is the last straw for Stiles. He’d put up with a _lot_ of Derek’s shit, but that was all he could take. He stands from his chair and starts towards the alpha, pointing a finger at him and probably looking certifiably insane with huge, bugged-out eyes, red from lack of sleep.

“What’s the _matter_? I’ll tell you what the _matter_ is, you self-absorbed bag of _dicks!_ ” and before he knows what is happening, Stiles is letting everything go, too busy screaming to even really notice how startled Derek looks at this sudden turn of events.

“Maybe I’m _exhausted_ because I was sitting in a fucking tree all night, in the freezing cold, waiting for some asshole omega to come wandering by so _you_ could scare it out of your precious territory, hm? And what do I get in return for my effort? _Splinters,_ Derek _! Splinters in uncomfortable places!_ Not a thank you, nooooo way! No sirree! _Splinters!_ Not to mention absolutely zero sleep, which, you know, can come in handy when you’ve got school the next day.

“I should really be used to this, you know?” he sighs, breathing rather heavily and feeling more like he was raging at himself than raging at a very silent Derek at this point. “I mean, I’ve spent my _entire_ sophomore year chasing goddam werewolves, and, really, _what?_ Do you, honestly, have any idea everything I’ve given up helping you guys?”

“Stiles—“

“No, no, just listen; I’ve only ever played _one_ lacrosse game. Yeah, I’ve had chances, but what happens every single time I _might_ have a shot at starting? Something supernatural of more importance than _my_ life comes up, and I wind up screwed. My dad, I feel like I haven’t seen him in ages. My sleep schedule is a mess. I’m _constantly_ taking the fall for you, and for Scott, and for everyone else who’s time is oh-so-much more important than mine.

“Not to fucking mention the bruises,” he adds angrily, and it seems like Derek flinches. “And the broken bones, and the cuts and the scrapes and the nightmares.” And yeah, this wasn’t nearly the first time Stiles had had these thoughts, but he’d been a whole lot more careful about keeping them to himself up until now. Now he just couldn’t find a reason to do it anymore. “I have been punched, tossed, sliced, stabbed, shot at, _paralyzed_ , and god knows what else—and I’ve never said a _single fucking thing_ about it, have I?”

Stiles groans and throws up his hands, running his fingers along his scalp.

“And Lydia! _Fuck_ , Lydia. My chances are so shot with her it’s actually laughable. I laugh about it sometimes. Because I’ve always put saving you and Scott and everyone else above my own benefit, above her. In fact, my chances with her are _so_ dead—I think I’m actually moving on. Not that I have a chance with anyone _else_ , considering that at any moment I might have to choose between them and the—the _pack_!”

He laughs suddenly, slumping back into his chair.

“The only fucking thing I’ve managed to keep a hold onto is school, because my—“ he turns away, fighting with himself before blurting out, “my mom always said I was smart, and I would have to work hard to stay that way.” He snorts, rolling his eyes. “Though if Harris had anything to say about it I’m sure I’d be failing at that too.”

He trails off, staring gloomily at the wall. It’s silent for a while, until Stiles glances at Derek to find him frowning, hands balled into fists at his sides.

“Stiles, “ he grunts, “as much as I love being a part of your pity party, I really need—“

“No,” Stiles hisses, standing once again and advancing on Derek menacingly. “Not tonight, Derek. I don’t care what it is. I really don’t. The answer is no.”

“It’s not—“

“You know, you really are one hell of an asshole, Derek,” Stiles exclaims. “Like, I don’t even know how one manages to stay that jerk-ish all the time. Do you practice? Because I have got to say, you do an excellent job of just not giving a single fuck about anyone but yourself.”

“I’m trying to—“ Derek huffs, only to be cut off once again.

“I don’t even think you’re an alpha werewolf. I think you might just be the alpha asshole. And Scott’s your little beta asshole, and all you two ever think about is yourselves and your own asshole problems.” Stiles voice is rising again and he can’t even stop it. This is everything he’d ever shut away, coming up like vomit and he’s seeing red. “I wonder if you could manage to actually think of someone else, if you ever have in your entire life?”

“You want me to think about someone other than myself?” Derek growls loudly, chest rising and falling quickly beneath his leather jacket.

“That’d be great, yes!” Stiles shouts back, anger coursing through him.

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

“ _Okay!_ ”

And then Derek is out of his window so fast that it takes Stiles a good minute and a half to realize that he had just… won?

“ _What_." 

* * *

 

 The first thing Stiles smells when he wakes up the next morning is pancakes and chocolate. He springs out of bed because those smells can only mean one thing and that thing is chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast and Stiles _loves_ chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. Not only because they are delicious but also because it means his father is actually home in the mornings for once and had enough time to make the pancakes that Stiles is smelling. He’s halfway down the stairs when he realizes that he isn’t exhausted for once and he actually got a decent night’s sleep _and_ managed to finish his Lit paper and get ahead on some homework that he’d been putting off. As if that thought wasn’t enough to cheer him up, there were pancakes waiting for him in the kitchen and his dad was smiling when he nearly slid across the linoleum in the socks he’d worn to sleep.

“This is why your mother and I only made you chocolate chip pancakes on your birthday, son,” the sheriff says with an amused sigh. “You’re spastic enough without the morning sugar rush."

“But it’s not my birthday today!” Stiles crows, sliding across the kitchen to breath in the chocolaty delicious smell. He pauses and frowns. “Is it? Oh, god, did I really forget my own birthday? That is _so_ not cool. I haven’t even thought about what I want or—“

“It’s not your birthday, Stiles. I just thought, well, I woke up with a craving this morning, let’s leave it at that.”

Stiles eyes his father curiously but shrugs it off, taking a seat at the small kitchen table and stretching muscles out that feel significantly better after sleeping off yesterdays hell of a lacrosse practice. He could still feel the remains of the tree-sitting incident but it’s only a dull ache, and he’s pretty much used to a constant dull ache at this point in his life. Which… is kind of sad, but also kind of makes him feel like a badass, so it’s a give or take kind of situation that he’s willing to live with.

“And you’re home early enough to make breakfast. What’s the deal with that?”

“I’ve got the day off,” his dad replies, piling three pancakes onto a plate and sliding them over in front of Stiles, slapping his hand with a fork when Stiles tries to just grab one. He snatches up the fork and proceeds to pile _way_ too much pancake in his mouth at once, chewing slowly until he can swallow and take another equally huge bite.

“You’ve got a game today, right?” Stiles nods, rolls his eyes. “Well, I’ll be there. It’s been pretty calm lately over at the station.”

Stiles’ chewing slows and he wishes he could tell his dad how _not_ calm it’s been, just not as publicly insane so the police have to get involved. At the same time, he thinks, looking down at two and a third left of his pancakes, at least his dad gets relative saneness, even if he’s the one dealing with the real insanity. He never liked bringing his father into the fights, even less than he liked himself being involved—although he had pretty much come to terms with that part of his life.

His dad sits beside him with his own stack of pancakes and takes his time cutting normal sized bites. They move their bites to their mouths at the same time and from the corner of his eye Stiles notices that they chew the same way, and smiles with a mouth full of chocolate chips and pancake. His dad finishes his bite before him and glances his way, staring at him oddly. Stiles swallows and starts wiping his face.

“Do I have chocolate on me or something?”

“No,” the sheriff laughs. “I was just thinking how I haven’t spent much time with you lately. What do you say after the game tonight we go out to eat?”

“Alright. But only if we get salads to make up for the calories in these pancakes.”

“Curly fries on the side?”

Stiles debates this one for a minute before biting his lip and sighing in defeat.

“Fine, shake on it.”

His dad laughs when he grips Stiles’ hand then adds brightly,

“Yeah, shakes sound delicious after a nice, leafy salad.”

Stiles groans as his father grins and continues eating his stack of pancakes. They stay that way for a while, eating together in silence, and its nice. Its one of the nicest things Stiles has had in a while. He has a hope that maybe today won’t be as terrible as the day before was.

“You know, I’m glad you’re gonna be at the game, Dad, but don’t get your hopes up or anything,” he says when he only has half a pancake left and is in the middle of deciding whether or not he wants just one more. He grimaces, thinking of Scott, and Jackson, _and_ Isaac, _and Boyd_ , and no, he’s definitely not going to play today.

“I’ll still be there cheering the team on,” his dad replies, clapping him on the back before grabbing his plate and tossing it in the sink to wash. So much for his other pancake. “Now, you should probably get ready or you’ll be late for school. See you at the game, son.”

“Yeah,” Stiles smiles reluctantly. “Yeah, see ya, Dad. Thanks for the pancakes.”

He leaps back upstairs and gets dressed, making sure to toss his finished paper into his bag before throwing it over his shoulder and making his way back downstairs. With a final bye to his dad he heads out the door and over to his jeep that, miraculously, starts without a single hitch. Pleased and surprised, he backs out of the driveway and heads to school.

 

* * *

 

On the way to school the jeep, much to Stiles confusion, runs better than she has in _years_. She doesn’t creak or bang or feel like she’s about to fall apart beneath his feet, or like she’s been ripped apart more times than Stiles can count.

In fact, by the time Stiles gets to school it seems so surreal that as soon as he’s parked, he hops out and circles the car slowly, as though looking for something to be different about her. And, sure enough, she looks clean. Well, cleaner.

Which is just really weird, because Stiles hadn’t had his jeep cleaned in months, not when he knew he’d probably be driving her through the muddy forest again the next day anyway so what was the point. But she was clean. Like, no dirt, buffed out scratches, and gleaming windshield with—were those _brand new windshield wipers_?

“Hey, Stiles!”

Stiles spins around, surprised to hear Scott’s voice. He glances to where Scott is standing near the steps leading up to the school. He looks once more at his freakishly _clean_ car, grabs his backpack, and heads towards Scott, choosing to ignore the car thing until he can take the time to come up with some idea of who might have done it.

When he gets within a few yards of Scott he notices how awkwardly his best friend is standing, avoiding Stiles’ gaze and moving one foot around absentmindedly on the ground. Stiles sighs, remembering how he’d yelled at Scott and Isaac the day before. When he reaches Scott he puts up one hand to stop whatever is about to come pouring from his best friend’s mouth and cuts him off, saying calmly,

“Look, can we just forget about yesterday? I’m sorry I went off at you and Isaac. Honestly, I don’t even remember half of what I said and I was just having a shitty day and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, and—“

“I’m sorry too!” Scott blurts out before Stiles can stop him, and suddenly there are sad Scott puppy eyes in his face and Stiles can’t even say no to that anymore.

“And Isaac is too, and we talked to Derek for you! I didn’t know he was getting you to help him all the time, making you stay up late or research things for him. We told him to lay off and to just use us if he needs help.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. It’s still too early in the morning for him to start thinking about Derek and what he said to him last night, but still…

“Every time he asks me for something he always says you guys are too busy to help.”

Scott looks at him, obviously confused. Stiles shakes his head, smiling.

“Whatever. It doesn’t even matter. I sort of… yelled at Derek last night. More than I even yelled at you and Isaac. I think he might steer clear of me for a little while.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Stiles replies, though he feels a little weird about it. Somehow this had all wound up seeming like Derek’s fault, which Stiles didn’t exactly totally agree with. Like, it sort of seemed like Derek’s fault when he thought about it, but it was also Scott’s fault, and his own fault, and Derek wasn’t just a bad guy. He was trying to deal with things as best he could, and most of the time Stiles really didn’t mind helping him, but yesterday was just a mess and he _was_ a little fed up with Derek asking so much and never giving anything in return. Even a simple thank you would be nice from time to time.

Stiles sighs and shakes his head, hitting Scott on the shoulder and pulling him towards school, rambling about his weirdly clean car and who might be responsible, and feeling really pretty good (he continues ignoring the weird feeling in his chest related to Derek. He would deal with it eventually). Scott smiles at him and Stiles hopes that means he knows he is forgiven, and when they meet up with Erica, Isaac and Boyd in the main hall he gives Isaac a bright smile which Isaac returns, and then head off to their first classes.

Stiles turns in his Lit paper feeling really, really good about it. He usually feels good about his work, but this one just seems right. The rest of the class is nice too and for once Stiles isn’t tired. He takes two and half pages of notes and finds times to text Scott a joke he came up with before sharing it with Erica who actually laughs instead of just staring blankly, and by the end of Class Stiles isn’t just feeling good—he is feeling _great._

By the time he gets to Chemistry he is talking so fast to Scott, Allison, and Lydia about the Omega he helped Derek catch the other night that it takes him a minute to remember that Harris hates the very sound of his voice and he should probably shut up before he gets another undeserved detention. The bell rings and class starts, and for some reason Harris looks a little off, though Stiles has no idea why. He has them turn to the completely wrong chapter and doesn’t even glare at Lydia when she tells him.

“You think something’s up with Harris?” Stiles asks Scott as their teacher reads something on a powerpoint slide.

“You mean _up,_ up?”

“No, I mean down, up, Scott. What the hell?”

“I mean, you know, like something we deal with, up?” Scott replies and Allison leans over, listening in.

“I don’t think so,” Stiles replies, glancing towards the front of the room. “He just looks… I dunno, shaken. Hey, maybe his creepy younger girlfriend broke—“

“Stilinski!”

Stiles snaps up, sitting straight in his seat and swallowing. He really didn’t feel like having a detention, not after how great his day had been going so far.

“Yes?” He asks, intrigued when Harris looks away from him and swallows.

“Pick up the reading where Greenburg left off.”

Right, yeah, Stiles could totally do that. He glances down at his textbook, realizing in that moment that he has absolutely no idea where they were in the reading. He isn’t even sure he’s on the right page.

“Uhhh…” he says, biting his lip. He sees Harris glance at him and sigh. So much for no detention. He braces himself for whatever berating speech Harris has planned for him today, and then… nothing.

“Lydia, you know where we were, right? Go ahead.”

And then Lydia is reading and Stiles glances to the front again to find Harris pointedly avoiding his gaze. Stile frowns. Something is going on. He’s _never_ had a day this good in his life. He locks eyes with Scott, who just shrugs, then Allison, who does the same and returns to her work.

Something is _definitely_ going on, and Stiles is going to find out what it is.

 Geography goes well too. The girl who totally friend-zoned Stiles the day before still talks to him like it’s nothing. Of course she’s talking about some boy she’s crushing on, and then points him out because he’s in class too. Stiles turns away to roll his eyes because the dude is _such_ a hipster. He probably writes sad poetry and is really into black and white photography. Though he _is_ one of the, like, four boys in the entire school not on the lacrosse team, so that’s weird enough as it is. What the hell does one do in this school if not lacrosse?

Still, despite having his own friend-zoneness shoved in his face, he doesn’t get too down about it. He’s spends most of the class trying to figure out who would fix his car up for him, and why he feels like that random act of kindness also has something to do with Harris not totally freaking out on him in class today like he usually would. His conversation with Derek the night before floats through his mind momentarily, and he remembers the weird ending to their argument (however one-sided it had been).

_“You want me to think about someone other than myself?”_

_“That’d be great, yes!”_

_“Fine!”_

_“Fine!”_

Maybe _Derek_ had fixed up his car and—and intimidated Harris so he would get off Stiles’ back?

No. No way. That’s just a little bit too far-fetched for Stiles to believe. Derek probably just sprung out of his window, raced back to his little rail station and sulked. Then worked out, which is what Stiles believes Derek spends 90% of his time doing when he’s not making Stiles’ life difficult anyway he possibly can.

Yeah, Derek will probably be in his room tonight asking for his help again like he didn’t hear a word Stiles yelled at him last night. Stiles sighs, thinking that he will probably agree to help with whatever insanity Derek had planned anyway. He tries not to feel too pitiful about that.

Stiles might have spent the rest of Geography brooding over Derek and his annoying sulkiness, and his stupid, stupid muscles and werewolf scare-tactics, except that his teacher was suddenly dividing the class into pairs to work on a relatively big project that would take them the next few weeks to finish. Beside him Stiles can hear the girl he’d been somewhat crushing on hoping she gets paired with Hipster-boy; surprisingly, it is Stiles who winds up paired with him. He tries not to feel a little pleased by that. It’s mostly a lost cause.

“Hi. I’m Stiles. You probably know me as the spastic kid. No pictures, please.”

The kid stares at him sort of blankly, with a hint of a smile, and says,

“Yeah… I know. We’ve had classes together since freshman year. My name is Kyle.”

Whoops. Stiles really needs to learn his classmates’ names. It would be a lot easier if he hadn’t spent his first few years of school identifying everyone as either “Lydia” or “not Lydia.” Oh well, live and learn.

They start discussing the project—or, Kyle starts talking about the project and Stiles tries to figure out what makes this kid more appealing than him. He wonders if it’s the lip piercing; it is sort of hot. Maybe he should look into one of those.

He shoots that idea down before it can even fully form. A lip piercing would be an _awful_ idea. Knowing him he’d never stop playing with it and would probably somehow pull it into his mouth and swallow it or something idiotic that none of his friends would ever let him live down.

Just then he seems to notice that Hipster Kyle is staring at him like he just asked Stiles a question. Stiles slides back into reality, hopefully more smoothly than it felt like he did.

“Huh?”

Kyle laughs nervously for some reason, staring at the table and avoiding Stiles’ gaze. Which, okay, _weird_. But whatever. Stiles just wants to get through this project without much fuss.

“I was just saying I hope I don’t bring your grade down too much. If you want to do most of the work yourself I totally won’t mind.”

“You aren’t trying to pass all the work off on me, are you?” Stiles asks, raising an eyebrow critically. “Because I’ve been down that road before, buddy, and—“

“No!” Kyle replies quickly, looking actually genuinely upset that Stiles would even suggest that. “It’s just—everyone knows you’re like, the smartest kid in school—“

“No, Lydia Martin is. I am a close second. Close. But second.”

“Right, but, you’re still really smart. And I’m… not, so I just thought—whatever. Nevermind. We can do it together, if, you know, you want to.”

“Well considering that’s what we’re _supposed_ to do,” Stiles states, eyeing the kid suspiciously. He’s pretty sure this Kyle kid just gave him a compliment. Just another weird thing to add to this kid’s weird list.

“So,” he says. “How do you wanna do this project thing? 50/50? 2%? Hotdog, hamburger style? Any ideas?”

Kyle laughs, like actually genuinely laughs at Stiles’ weird not-even-really-a-joke joke, looking up from underneath his eyelashes to reply,

“I don’t care. Anyway you want, I guess.”

Stiles pauses, frowns, remains paused as the gears in his head turn and crank and suddenly come up with a crazy idea. _This kid is flirting with him!_

“Holy shit on a stick you’re _flirting with me_!”

Hipster Kyle’s eyes sort of widen a bit and he quickly looks away, then looks back, shyly, and Stiles’ assumption is almost confirmed. Then Kyle looks away again and back again, this time a little uncertain.

“Well… yeah. That’s okay, right? Someone told me you’re bi, so—“

“Oh, my god, yeah!” Stiles actually hits himself on the middle of the forehead. Because yes, he actually had that revelation a few months back. He remembered telling a few people, and then he forgot about it. Okay, he didn’t exactly _forget_. It’s just that it so _wasn’t_ on his mind with everything that’d been going on that it sort of felt like he’d forgotten.

“Wait,” he says, barely able to contain his excitement because, seriously, this is too awesome. “Someone told you that? Are there people, like, talking about me?”

“Um,” Kyle shrinks in his seat. “Yeah, I guess.”

“ _Fucking awesome!_ ” Stiles curses, feeling like he wants to punch the air, not just because he remembered that he was bi, but also because someone actually found him worth flirting with, and the girl with a crush on Kyle was totally out of luck! Ha! Serves her right for friend-zoning Stiles in the first place.

The bell rings right after that and Stiles hops out of his chair and throws his backpack across his back the next moment. Before rushing out of the room to his next class he turns back to Kyle, grinning from ear to ear.

“Thanks!” He says, and Kyle stares at him like he’s crazy.

“Um, what for?”

“For flirting with me!” Stiles replies like it’s obvious, and then he’s gone.

 

* * *

 

Stiles is in such a good mood by the end of the school day that he’s practically skipping down the hallway singing the Tigger song at the top of his lungs. Almost everyone is staring at him, but he really doesn’t give a fuck. Spotting Lydia at her locker on the other end of the hall, he takes off at a sprint, a literal spring in his step and song on his tongue as he goes.

“Theeeeeee wonderful thing about Tiggers isssssssssssss… I’m the only one!”

He plants himself in front of Lydia, who stares at him wide-eyed and leans back against her locker like she’s afraid he’s going to pounce on her. The grin on his face still doesn’t fade and she rolls her eyes, pushing him bodily out of her way to start walking towards the exit.

“Hey, hey Lydia. Do you remember in second grade when we did that Winnie the Pooh play?”

“Vividly,” she replies stiffly, glancing over her shoulder at him.

“And I was Tigger, and Scott was a tree, and you were—“

“I remember!” she cuts him off shrilly, and he grins even wider.

“Oh, bother! Does the little piglet need her Pooh?”

“Another word, Stilinski, and I’ll—I’ll—“ she pauses, and the sudden look of satisfaction blooming on her face only worries Stiles a little bit because of the great mood he’s in. “I’ll tell a certain Alpha what you told me when you were drunk out of your head the other day.”

Stiles freezes, eyes going comedy wide.

“You wouldn’t!”

“No one is to know of the piglet incident, then. And stop humming Pooh songs, you’re not _five_.”

And with that she’s gone before Stiles can even ask her if she’s going to be at the game later, though he knows she probably is. She wouldn’t miss a moment of her darling Jackson’s lacrosse talent—even thought at least 60% of it is werewolf ability at this point.

Also, he has _no clue_ to what she was referring that he must have apparently told her, but just knowing that it had something to do with Derek makes Stiles more than a little nervous. Nervous enough to act dumb and hope she keeps her mouth shut until he can weasel it out of her for himself.

He heads to the locker room even though the game isn’t for a couple hours still. Maybe if he’s punctual Coach Finstock will give him a shot. Also, he is very, very close to memorizing the speech from Independence Day and who is he to deny himself that talent?

As he’s changing he thinks about Derek. He really shouldn’t have ranted at him so much the night before. Things really _were_ a lot calmer now than before. It’s not Derek’s fault that Stiles is his go-to human.

Though, Stiles really isn’t all that sure when or how that happened. Probably around the same time Derek stopped acting like such an asshole all the time and Scott decided to trust him. Well, trust him a little. Really, Scott’s trust and Derek’s assholishness were directly related. The more Scott trusted Derek the less horribly obnoxious Derek acted, and vice-versa.

And, of course, Stiles was dragged along. Scott told him once that Derek was much more civil when Stiles was around. Which, at the time, sounded like utter bullshit because Stiles had _never_ seen Derek act _civil_ , but then once he walked in on the two of them, claws out, ready to go at each other’s throats, and Derek was the first one to back down, eyeing Stiles like he was sort of mad for being interrupted, but also glad for the distraction. Maybe it was a human thing.

And human things were another reason Stiles and Derek had grown closer. See, it turned out that in the crazy, mythical world Derek lived in (and Scott and Stiles were subsequently sucked into) there were a lot of things that were dangerous for werewolves but actually had no affect on humans whatsoever. Which meant that anytime one of these things came to town, Stiles was the one who was called upon (growled upon, if Derek was involved) to be the sane-mind, the lookout

And Stiles didn’t really mind. It’s like, for his whole life, he’s had all this excess energy, just waiting for something to channel it through. Ordinary life just wouldn’t do it, Stiles realized not long after his third near-death experience. If he hadn’t stumbled upon this life of myth and magic he probably would have wound up joining a gang or show choir just to have something to put his energy towards that wasn’t the usual stuff.

Derek is actually pretty good at channeling Stiles’ energy, as weird as it sounds. He jacks Stiles up and brings him back down almost at the same time. So, yeah, Stiles had a low moment, day, whatever, but he really shouldn’t have blamed Derek.

Not that it wasn’t _partly_ Derek’s fault. Stiles does remember most of what he’d screamed at the alpha, and yeah, it _was_ a fuckin’ dick-move to constantly ask Stiles for help and never even say _thank you, I’d probably be dead without you, Stiles. What a great help you’ve been._

Asshole.

Not to mention how Derek is constantly all up in his space. No explanation or apology for that either. Though, there are times that Stiles doesn’t mind. Except he does. Because it never leads anywhere.

It’s like when he’d been up in that tree all night scouting for the omega. Derek was sitting right beside him the entire time. Just the two of them, bickering and talking, Derek leaning against him when he’d complained about the cold then snapping that Stiles should have brought a warmer jacket. Although, now that he thought about it, it might have been Derek’s body heat that had kept him from getting a cold afterwards. He’d been sniffly, sure, but after a good night’s sleep he was fine.

And the whole night Stiles felt this buzzing underneath his skin that he couldn’t explain. He was a fairly touchy kind of guy, but he was sure he never _noticed_ so much when anyone else touched him. Every time Derek even bumped his shoulder it felt like, he couldn’t really explain it; but it felt like something was there, between them, un-acted upon.

He tried denying what it probably was, coming up with excuses and the like, but he was starting to get a clearer picture. And that picture was Derek shirtless.

Derek shirtless and _touching him_.

 _Fuck,_ he might totally know what he drunk-told Lydia about Derek.

Stiles shudders, glancing inconspicuously (what he _thinks_ is inconspicuous) around the locker room just in case any werewolves are nearby. They can smell shit like arousal, Stiles knows this, and it’s a pain in his ass. He frowns when he doesn’t see a single one. Jackson isn’t over at his locker next to Danny. Isaac and Boyd aren’t changing at their lockers around the corner. He looks to Scott’s abandoned locker just beside his and is about to comment aloud about this odd lack of werewolf when Finstock does it for him.

“Where the _hell_ are my captains? Danny, Stilinski, front and center!”

Stiles watches Danny roll his eyes and move to approach Finstock as he slides himself over as well, taking his phone carefully out of his pocket to try and text Scott before their coach has a panic attack in front of the whole team.

“Have either of you seen McCall or Whittemore?”

“Jackson was in class today, Coach,” Danny provides with a shrug.

“Yeaaaaah, I saw Scott today too,” Stiles adds, though it doesn’t seem to even be heard.

“Well where are they _now_?” Each word coming out of Finstock’s mouth is sort of making Stiles a little more frightened for his life. He catches Danny’s eye as they both shrug and glances down at his phone, hoping a text from Scott might magically appear.

And then, as soon as he thinks it, one does appear.

_Scott: Not coming to game tonight._

_Stiles: What!? Why not?? Something up? What about the rest?_

_Scott: Nothings up. Calm down. Don’t worry about it. Jackson, Boyd and Isaac out too._

_Stiles: What do I tell coach?_

Stiles doesn’t know what the _fuck_ is going on, but he needs some kind of excuse or this is going to end badly. So, of course, Scott doesn’t bother texting back. After a minute or so Stiles curses, tosses his phone in his locker and starts mildly panicking. Dragging a hand over his head and down the side of his face, he turns, looking around the locker room for some kind of inspiration. When he finds none he curses again, flails a bit, then creeps timidly back over to Finstock, who’s biting his nails.

“I don’t think they’re coming,” he says, wincing.

It’s only after he’s spent a good forty minutes trying to calm their coach down enough to decide who’s going to play for the werewolves instead, after their already on the field and the crowd is cheering and the other team is glaring on the other side that he realizes what this actually means.

_He gets to play!_

 

* * *

 

It’s about half way through the game when Stiles notices. He stumbles, accidentally trips someone from the opposing team _and_ someone from his team—probably Greenburg, and somehow winds up with the ball in his net. This means that he doesn’t have time for all the sudden realizations that are eclipsing his mind, because he’s playing a game and coach is counting on him (well, he’d be counting on him if he weren’t lying down on the bench with his eyes shut and fingers in his ears hoping this travesty of a game isn’t actually happening) and he actually has a shot at scoring, so no matter how distracting Derek’s sudden presence on the edge of the field is, he blocks it out and runs, runs like a fucking murderous supernatural creature is chasing him 

After he manages to take the shot (stopped by the other teams _freakishly good_ goalie—seriously, Stiles isn’t going to say werewolf, but _werewolf_ ) he has a second to breathe. The other teams coach calls for a time out and Stiles, diligently ignoring Derek’s very presence, trots over to his father, who, of course, glances right _at_ Derek, and asks,

“Any idea why Derek Hale is here watching your lacrosse game, son?”

“How long has he been there?” Stiles waves his arms frantically.

“Since the beginning. Is he here for you?”

Stiles takes a deep breath, continues avoiding Derek’s direction even though he can just feel the older man’s eyes on his back, and shrugs noncommittally, putting his helmet back on and heading back to field just in time for the ref to blow the whistle again.

As the game starts back up Stiles wonders how it took so long for him to notice Derek standing there. He’d noticed Lydia in the stands right away, frowning at the field and probably wondering where the hell Jackson is. Allison didn’t even bother showing up, which means she’s probably wherever Scott is. And Derek wasn’t exactly inconspicuous. He was doing his creeper thing where he just sort of stands all alone, staring and frowning, and Stiles has been on the receiving end of that far more times than he can count. Maybe that’s why he didn’t notice—he’s too used to it.

Some huge member of the opposing team comes hurtling towards him and he dodges, thinking about the last question his dad had asked him. The idea that Derek came to his lacrosse game just to watch him play fills him with some kind of drug-like emotion that Stiles can’t even process fully—and if his heart is beating a little faster than it should be, he _really_ hopes Derek will think it’s because of the ball that just landed in his net again.

 

* * *

 

The game ended and Stiles is bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. He dad waves at him and he waves back, huge grin on his face. He makes an odd “be there in a minute” gesture that his father only understands because he’s had to live with Stiles for all of his life and is fluent in Stilesisms. He nods and Stiles rushes over to where Derek is just barely smirking at him. He stops just in front of the alpha werewolf and just stands there for a second, neither of them saying anything, until Stiles can’t hold it in for any longer and bursts out, 

“I got to play an actual game!”

A real, genuine grin escapes Derek’s lips this time, and he folds his hands into his pockets as he replies,

“You did.”

“We lost!” Stiles cheers, like it’s the best thing in the world.

“Yup.”

“It was _awesome_!”

Stiles thinks for a moment that Derek is going to laugh, like actually laugh, at something Stiles said, and _what_. Then Derek just looks sort of crinkly-eyed at him and nods. They’re quiet for a minute again after that, then Stiles swallows, inches in a step closer and mutters accusingly,

“You fixed my jeep, dude.”

Derek just shrugs. No big deal.

“And you intimidated Harris so he’d lay off, didn’t you?”

“Actually…” Derek admits, “That was Peter. I just made him do it for me.”

Stiles’ mouth falls open. He blinks hard, looking at the ground, then back up, whispering in awe,

“You made them skip on the game. Scott, and Isaac, and Boyd, and, _fuck._ How the hell did you get Jackson to willingly miss a lacrosse game? The man is obsessed!”

“Maybe it wasn’t all that willingly,” Derek smirks again, and Stiles sees a flash of red, and it feels like the winds been knocked right out of him. When he can formulate words again he still struggles to get the question out, fiddling the edges of his jersey as Derek just keeps _staring_ at him. Finally, he manages to squeak out a small,

“ _Why_?”

Derek looks serious all of the sudden, awkwardly squaring his shoulders and glancing down towards his feet.

“You were right. What you said last—“

“Oh, god, no, please. I was thinking about it, and really I was just, like, partially insane from, like everything, and I shouldn’t have—“

“No, listen, Stiles,” Derek growls, and Stiles snaps his lips shut. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I am an asshole, and I know I ask I lot from you—“ he winces at some thought that he clearly doesn’t voice, “—and I don’t ever give you anything in return, even a thank you, so I thought I would try to make it up to you, a little. And I know you hate Harris, and your Jeep sounds like it’s about to die on a good day, and the lacrosse thing, you were complaining about that the other night, so I thought I could help. But, it’s probably still not enough, and if you don’t want to help me out anymore… you don’t have to.”

At this point Derek looks like his words are actually causing him physical pain, and Stiles almost laughs before putting him out of his misery.

“Stop, dude, seriously, it’s fine. I’m fine, and I don’t mind helping you out every now and then, okay? I mean, today was _awesome_ , I won’t deny. But you don’t even have to do all this, you know? Just, yeah, a thank you, or something every now and then.”

Derek seems to relax just a bit, and then something strikes Stiles and he considers it for a moment before blurting out,

“Hey! You weren’t the one who made that kid flirt with me in geography, were—“

Derek cuts him off with a low, sharp sound that’s more animal noise than word.

“ _No_! I did not have _anything_ to do with that.”

Stiles smirks.

“You were listening in, huh?”

And, oh, my god, Derek’s blushing. Like, he’s actually got red tinting his cheeks and ears, and Stiles thinks he might pass out. Derek’s hands fold even deeper into his jacket pockets and he is not even trying to pretend he isn’t avoiding Stiles gaze. Stiles takes a moment to let that image sink in, and then his pulse shoots off like a rocket.

“So,” Derek forces out, looking like he’s about to bolt. “Are we good, then? You won’t start yelling at me out of the blue anymore?”

And Stiels doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing, but Derek’s blushing because of him, and he actually did all of this stuff _for Stiles_ , and that just has to mean something! It has to! So Stiles takes a risk—he’s actually pretty good at that—and smirks up at Derek, staring at him silently until Derek looks back at him, then Stiles says thoughtfully,

“Actually, I think there might be just one more thing you can do for me…”

He reaches out, grabbing a hold of that obnoxiously hot leather jacket (and _shit, shit, he hasn’t been stopped yet, oh my god)_ and pulls Derek towards him, probably much more clumsily than he thinks he does, and presses their lips together, effectively cutting off whatever Derek might have been about to say next.

At first, its terrifying. The only thought passing through Stiles’ head is what a fucking stupid thing to do, and he’s really just such an idiot, and just because one weird hipster from his geography class decided to flirt with him doesn’t mean _Derek fucking Hale_ would want to _kiss_ him—and then Derek’s hands are hard and firm on his shoulders, pulling him in closer, and all Stiles can think then is, well, Stiles can’t really think at all after that.

Derek’s mouth is taught and soft and his stupid stubble scratches and Stiles shouldn’t find that so fucking hot but he does, which might be the story of his life. And then Derek nips at his bottom lip and he might have whimpered at that point and thrown his arms around Derek’s neck and kissed him way more graphically than anyone should be kissing on a school lacrosse field, but, seriously, like it mattered— _he is kissing Derek Hale!_

And then suddenly he’s one second from legs turning to jello and the next Derek pulls back so they can breath, and yeah, breathing into someone else’s mouth doesn’t sound that hot in theory, but after you’ve just had your tongue in said person’s mouth _it is about the hottest fucking thing there is._ And then Derek sort of turns his head, rubbing his cheek against Stiles’ cheek and breathing in his ear, and Stiles shivers and totally doesn’t whimper again and feel Derek’s hands tighten on his in response.

“Oh, my god,” Stiles breathes when he’s found his voice again. Again.

 _“Shit_ ,” Derek hisses, taking a step back, and, uh, _no. Fuck_ no, he’s not letting Derek get all self-righteous and upstanding or whatever, and taking this away from Stiles before it’s even a _thing._ And then right when Stiles thinks Derek is about to look at him and tell him what a huge mistake that was, Derek’s eyes go wide, and nervous, and he whispers like it’s the most horrifying thing in the world,

“Your dad just saw that whole thing.”

And, yeah, shit is right. In fact, it might actually be an understatement.

 _“Shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit, fuck, shit!_ ” And Stiles is too scared to turn around, so he just presses his face into Derek’s shoulder and asks softly,

“What—what is he doing? Oh, god, he’s not holding his _gun_ is he?”

“No,” Derek replies slowly. “He’s just sort of… glaring. With his arms crossed.”

“Shit,” Stiles curses one last time before turning around. He swallows and waves at his father who is, indeed, standing with his arms crossed and glaring. As soon as he sees Stiles’ wave he mouths slowly and clearly so Stiles can understand,

_Dinner. Derek’s coming too._

And this time Stiles just curses inside his head, nods as he asks behind him,

“You heard that?”

“Yeah,” Derek chokes out.

“Well,” Stiles takes a deep breath, reaching down to firmly grasp Derek’s hand in his (he wouldn’t put it above the little wolf to run away), “we’d better get going then.”

He starts dragging himself, plus one alpha, over to the stands. And even though he is pretty sure he’s about to sit through one of the most awkward and traumatizing dinners that ever, _ever_ was… he can feel Derek’s hand hot and firm in his, and can’t help smiling, and singing ecstatically inside his head a song that he will never let _anyone_ know he just came up with in the last five minutes.

_The wonderful thing is a Derek_

_A Derek’s a wonderful thing!_

_His hands are made out of claws_

_And his teeth are made out of fangs_

_He’s grumpy, frumpy, lumpy, mumpy_

_Sour, sour, sour, sour, sour_

_The most wonderful thing about Derek’s is:_

_Mine’s the only one!_


End file.
